From the Ipswich Tribune
December 5, 1929 edition
A Christmas Candle, a Christas Story
by Katherine Edelman
Lowly, almost reverently, Nora Carney set the Christmas candle in the window, whispering a prayer as she looked out into the cold, still night. Bravely the little flame gleamed out into the darkness; a beckoning light to any wanderer that might be seeking shelter.
“Mother, won’t you tell us the story of Christmas again?” little Micheal asked. “Tell us about the coming of the Christ Child and - and the reason they light the Christmas candle in Ireland?”
Nora Carney had been born in Ireland. Now her home was in the midst of a great western prairie, but as her children gathered around her, she told them the story of the coming of the Christ Child and the reason for the lighting of the Christmas Candle as her own mother used to tell it to her long ago, around a glowing peat fire in far-away Ireland.
“You know, children,” she began, “when Jesus came there was no place for Him. “Joseph and Mary were so tired and so weary after the long journey into Bethlehem, but every place they sought a shelter they got the same answer “no room.” People took little interest in them because they were poor; so they had to go out to that dark cold cave, and there the little Christ Child was born. Angels were singing their songs of joy and welcomed for Him over the hills of Judea, but in Bethlehem they sought a shelter in vain.”
“I wish our house had been there, mother; we – we would have let them in.” little Mary interrupted.
Mrs. Carney stopped to stroke the curly head with her work-worn hand, then went on: “In Ireland there is a beautiful legend that very often Mary, with the little Christ Child in her arms, comes back to earth on Christmas eve, and wanders around seeking a shelter for herself and Jesus. And lest she might seek a place in every home to guide her.”
“Oh, children,” she went on, her voice taking on a radiant note, “it is a beautiful sight to look out on Christmas eve and see every hill and valley in Ireland dotted with little golden lights; the whole country looks like one big Christmas tree.”
She stopped a few moments as if memory carried her back over the years and she was looking on the scene once more; then, at the insistence of the children, went on:
“This was how the beautiful custom of lighting the Christmas candle started, and it has been kept up through the years.”
“But-but-” practical-minded Jimmie interrupted: “They-the mother and child don’t really come back-do they?”
“I-I don’t know for sure, Jimmie, but I do know that very often others that the Christ Child loves are needing aid or shelter. Sometimes it is only a kind word, or a bit of encouragement, maybe, but if we give it, and give it cheerfully at Christmas, we are really doing it for Him and – and giving him the shelter that they refused in Bethlehem long ago. You know the words He said when He was here: “Inasmuch as ye do it unto the lest of these, ye do unto Me.”
Silence fell upon the room after the story was finished. Even practical Jimmie asked no other question. All the children seemed to be looking toward the little candle that was shining so bravely in the window. Now after the story that they had listened to, it was no ordinary candle that they were looking at; it had grown to be something sacred, something inspiring.
And in the years to come, no matter where the Carney children might be scattered over the earth, always the lighting of the Christmas candle would bring back the memory of this hour, and for all of them it would always be a symbol of the love and desire to help others at Christmas for His sake.
**Footnote: For many years, the Ipswich Tribune printed a chapter from a book each week or a story of some kind like the one we are sharing with you this week.
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